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Order celebration food and alcohol and get high with Marcus tonight

The phone is in Lena's hand and the app is open and the order is large — two large pizzas, garlic knots, a bag of wings, a bottle of whiskey, a six-pack of IPA, and a bottle of cheap red wine because the cheap red wine is what the carpet drinks and what the body drinks and what the night drinks. Marcus is on the floor already — 360 pounds settled onto the carpet beside the couch, the controller on his belly, the screen loading a racing game — and his phone buzzes and he checks it and it's his own order: a second six-pack, a bag of Doritos, and two pre-rolls from the dispensary down the street. The deliveries arrive in waves. The pizza first — the driver knocking at seven, the boxes stacked on the kitchen counter, the smell filling the apartment and mixing with the smell of the apartment and the smell of Marcus and the smell of Lena and the smell of the week. The alcohol second — the whiskey and the beer and the wine lined up on the counter beside the pizza boxes and the counter is barely visible and the kitchen is barely visible and the apartment is becoming what the office became. The dispensary delivery last — the pre-rolls in a small bag, sealed, legal, the smell sharp and green through the plastic.

Marcus lights the first pre-roll and the smoke rises and the apartment is warm and the racing game is on and the cars are fast and the tracks are bright and the controllers vibrate and the pizza is open on the floor between them — the box lid up, the grease soaking the cardboard, the pepperoni shiny — and Lena eats with one hand and drives with the other and the whiskey is open and the first sip burns and the burn is good and the burn is warm and the belly is warm and the night is warm. Marcus takes the pre-roll and the smoke is thick and he holds it and passes it and Lena takes it and the smoke fills her lungs and the world softens at the edges and the game softens and the lights soften and the pizza tastes better and the whiskey tastes better and the carpet is soft and the body is soft and everything is soft.

The second pizza opens at nine. The first is gone — the box empty, the grease pooled on the cardboard, the box set aside on the growing stack. The wings are half gone and the garlic knots are gone and Lena is on her third beer and the whiskey is a third empty and the pre-roll is cashed and Marcus is lighting the second and the game has changed — a fighting game now, the characters large and bright, the combos flashing — and the apartment is dark except the screen and the screen throws colored light across their bodies. Blue and red and green sliding across the belly and the breasts and the beard and the stretch marks and the yellow nails and the unwashed skin. The light moves and the bodies don't move and the food moves and the night moves.

The weed is deep by eleven. The gummies come out — Lena has a stash in the kitchen drawer, 50 mg, the same ones from the office — and she takes two and Marcus takes two and the night shifts. The ceiling is higher. The carpet is softer. The belly is a landscape and the pizza is a memory and the whiskey is a warmth that runs through everything and the fighting game is paused and the screen is on and the apartment is smoke and warmth and the two of them are on the carpet and the bodies are heavy and the heavy is good and the heavy is everything. Marcus laughs — the laugh deep and slow and the belly shaking — and Lena laughs and the laugh is slow and deep and the belly shakes and the apartment shakes and the night shakes.

The wine opens at midnight. The cheap red wine poured into nothing — they drink from the bottle, passing it back and forth, the red on their lips and the red on their teeth and the red on the carpet where it spills and the carpet drinks it. The screen is dark. The controllers are on the floor. The two of them are on the carpet — 411 and 360, nearly 800 pounds of unwashed skin and warm flesh and the apartment is theirs and the night is theirs and the salaries quadrupled and the numbers are real and the wish hums under everything. Marcus's hand finds hers on the carpet. The yellow nails interlock. The thick fingers press. The apartment is dark and the night is dark and the bodies are warm and the wish hums and the hum is everything and the morning is far away.